


Speed and Stress

by wingsofanillyrian



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: F/M, danny ric is a motorcycle boy and no one can convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 03:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofanillyrian/pseuds/wingsofanillyrian
Summary: You're going about your business in Los Angeles when you spot a mysterious man with a motorcycle in a parking lot. Something about him is familiar... and you're determined to put your finger on it.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Speed and Stress

Los Angeles was famous for the sun. Celebrities and common folk alike flocked to the fair weather paradise to lounge on beaches or bask in the warm rays. But your favorite part about LA was that you could get out and drive whenever you wanted, seeking that high that came with driving through the California canyons at questionably unsafe speeds.

After a week of near constant cloud cover, you were understandably itching to head down the Pacific Coast Highway and let loose. The second you clocked out and shut your laptop, you grabbed your keys and nearly sprinted for the door. 

You were near giddy as you hopped in the low-slung car and started the engine. Popping your sunglasses on, you peeled out of the garage and down the street, relishing the wind in your hair and the sun on your face.

You were just about to turn onto the highway when a harsh glint of sunlight blinded you. “Shit,” You mumble, glancing around for the source of the intrusion. 

The motorcycle caught your attention before the rider did. The bike itself was sporty, the kind that the rider had to lean over to pilot. The kind that radiated speed and danger and ultimately led to addiction. It had a unique, geometric pattern on it that shifted between a rainbow of colors in the sunlight. It was something that you would have gladly ridden on your own, when your own speed addiction demanded to be sated.

You watched from where you waited at the red light as the rider propped his phone up on a light pole and stepped back. You expected him to remove the patterned helmet but he didn't, instead breaking into a dance.

The absurdity of it made you burst out laughing. Whoever he was, he certainly didn't care about the hundreds of cars passing by him, the drivers certainly writing him off as crazy. The utter lack of regard for others' opinions intrigued you. Whoever they were, they seemed like a good time. You drum your fingers on the wheel, glancing between the bike and the highway.

Making a split second decision, you flick on your turn signal and pull into the parking lot. Purposely pulling between the driver and the phone propped on a light pole, you rolled down your window.  
You slid your sunglasses down your nose, pointedly looking him up and down. “Need some help filming?”

You had no idea what made you so bold; perhaps it was the mystery of what hid behind the helmet, or maybe it was the warm Los Angeles air. This close, you could see that the bike he rode was a liter bike; one of the fastest that money could buy. And it was a Yamaha, your personal favorite brand.

You were beginning to like this adrenaline-seeking mystery man more and more.

“If you’re offering,” Says the rider, voice muffled by the thick padding. They flip the visor up, and you are met with sparkling, rich brown eyes. Something about them seemed… Familiar, when coupled with the slight accent that edged his words. But you shake it off, determined it was a coincidence.

“I’ll park out of the shot,” You say with a grin. He throws you a thumbs up and leans back against the bike with practiced ease. Tanned skin rippled beneath the black tee when he moved, the picture of casual grace.

"Did I really look so desperate?" He asks as you approach.

"Just seemed like you might need a hand," You say, stopping a few paces from him. "Plus I loved the bike, so I figured I should let the owner know." You put a hand on your hip, tipping your head. "By the way, any idea who that might be?"

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "Guy went to take a leak. Told me to stand here and look pretty while I wait."

A laugh bubbles from your chest. "Mission accomplished there."

From the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, you guess he's smiling behind the helmet. The mystery of it heightens your intrigue. If only you could put your finger on who he reminded you of. If he would take off his helmet, maybe recognition would strike.

“I see you’re a high speed thrill seeker too,” He says, nodding at your coupe. “2018 BMW M3, very nice.” A man with impeccable taste in cars and bikes. It would seem he was after your heart. If he kept this up, you might have to suggest a date.

“Ah well.” You shrug, heat bleeding into your cheeks with the compliment. “Sometimes you just gotta let off some steam, right?”

The man chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, I know something about speed and stress. Works wonders after a long work week. A little racing never hurt anyone.” 

You sigh dramatically, looking back at your baby blue car. “Just wish the cops would understand that.”

“You could always take that thing out on the track.” He crosses his arms, his body language again suggesting a playful grin. He radiated confidence, almost seeming to challenge you to something. You had taken the BMW out on the track, plenty of times. It had been freeing and exhilarating to throw it around the banked corners, reminding you of the professional races you watched religiously. Thrown by the suggestion, you change the subject.

“Right, well,” You say, picking up the phone, “What are we going for here?”

“Ah y’know,” He says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Just something to make my followers laugh. That’s got face ID, by the way.”

You purse your lips, handing him his phone to unlock it. “And just how many followers do you have?”

The man laughs, unbuckling the helmet. The reflective print splattered across it- cheetah print, you realize belatedly- catches the sun as he tugs it up. “Just a few million.”  
But the words are just buzzing in your ears. You’re too busy trying to contain yourself because -

_That’s Daniel fucking Ricciardo._

You suppose the tattoos on his arms should have given him away, but apparently you weren’t paying attention. The chrome 3 on the side of the bike should have been another indicator as well… Wow, you had really been distracted. 

Daniel laughs again, his aussie accent now perfectly clear without the helmet to distort it. “Yeah, that’s generally the reaction I get.”

“Well, I, uh-” You shake your head, trying to sort out your thoughts. A Formula 1 driver stands before you, flirting with you, and you can’t even get a word out. He runs a hand through his brown curls, letting you flounder. All you can process is his knowing smirk, seeming to enjoy your embarrassment.

With his signature goofiness, he makes a face at his phone and unlocks it. You’re still gaping at him when he holds it out to you. “Are you gonna stare all day or do you wanna film for me?"

Your favorite F1 driver is standing in front of you. Asking for your help. Well, you asked him if he needed help, but still. How are you still standing upright?

Shaking yourself, you straighten and take it. “Film,” You say firmly, thankful that your voice doesn’t shake. Shit, pull yourself together. Where had your dauntless confidence gone? He was still the same guy that had flirted with you moments before. Why did it matter what his name was? Confidence surged back as you smirked.

Playing off his flirtatious energy you add, "But you should know I'm perfectly capable of doing both at once." 

"Oh, are you?" A sparkle dances in his eyes. "Prove it then."

He fits the reflective helmet back on his head, crouching behind the bike. He throws you a thumbs up and you start recording. Music plays, he jumps up and flails his arms in a ridiculously adorable way. Your laugh ruins the take, and he dramatically slumps his shoulders.

“Go again,” You say, biting your lip. “I’ll be quiet.”

And this time you are, because you’re now dumbfounded by the predicament you’re in. What god of luck smiled down upon you today? Had the fates taken pity on you and decided to bless you with your wildest dream?

Because motorcycles and men… That was your weakness. Let alone a man you admired as much as Daniel Ricciardo. This was a dream. It had to be. You bite your cheek, the pain confirming that, actually, this is really happening.

It took two more tries for Daniel to be happy with the short video. Your heart was in your throat the entire time, reality having sunk in. This was a fantasy. One you would remember forever, sure, but nothing that could play out.

Damp curls stuck to his head when he pulls the helmet off, and he tousels them with a broad hand. Helmet tucked under an arm, Daniel leans against the bike. “Judging by the way you’re blushing, you’ve figured out who I am.”

Heat floods your face, from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. “Uh- yeah. Danny Ric. Formula 1 driver for McLaren. Currently-” You cut yourself off, clamping your tratorous lips shut. Damn your nervous rambling.

“Currently about to ask for your number?” He offers with a sly smile. You blink, his grin growing into a full blown toothy smile. You’re rooted to the spot as he laughs again, handing you his phone once more, a blank contact page staring back at you.

You quickly type in your name and number and hand it back. “You’re uh, leaving soon,” You stammer, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

“Austin, yeah. Race on-"

"Sunday," You say in unison, that stupid grin of his breaking free again. You duck your head to hide your blush, laughing lightly. Heart pounding, you glance up to find his attention pinned on you. 

"Maybe I'll bump into you there," You say. "My older brother and I have tickets for the whole weekend." Bless Hunter for getting you those tickets for your birthday. You'd have to remember to call and thank him tonight.

Daniel's face lights up. "Oh yeah? Maybe I can see about getting you guys some garage tour passes. It would be nice to see a pretty face besides mine around the paddock for once."

"Oh, no you shouldn't go through the trouble-" You stammer, brain stuck on his last sentence. Another pretty face. You're not sure how you don't spontaneously combust then and there.

"It's no trouble," He assures you, stretching his arms over his head. Your gaze follows the motion, eyes roaming over the curve of a flexed bicep.

Catching your stare, Daniel gives you a toothy grin. "So, two VIP passes with your name on them will be at will call Friday morning. Anyone gives you any trouble, tell them to take it up with me."

"Um, okay," You say, still trying to process what just happened. After a beat of silence, you find your nerve and add, "Maybe Sunday night I can buy the United States Grand Prix winner a drink?"

Daniel smiles, biting his tongue between his teeth. "Sounds suspiciously like a date."

You wave a hand at him. "Let's not use labels. Just a drink, shared by a world class driver and his biggest fan."

"I can get behind that."

**Author's Note:**

> Might do a part two if anyone is interested! Let me know. On tumblr as @lightsovermonaco


End file.
